


Perhaps its time that you went for a walk

by softtlsp



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Croissants, Fluff, M/M, Writer's Block, and also loves alex very much, chilly boys, honestly nothing happens, miles is a turtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softtlsp/pseuds/softtlsp
Summary: Alex has writer's block and Miles takes him out for a walk to distract him





	Perhaps its time that you went for a walk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I wrote because there is not enough milex content in this world and everyone deserves more of them. Seriously nothing happens it's just them being cute but I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, when he’s deep in the writing process, Alex gets like this. He’ll be sitting at his desk beneath the bay window of the flat facing out to the street, or reclining back in the armchair in the corner, or slumped at the kitchen table. He’ll have his notepad—well-worn old thing—in front of him, scribbling away in brief but excited intervals separated by drawn out silences, and suddenly, he’ll hit a wall. He’ll tap his pen rapidly on whatever’s in front of him, stare hard at nothing, eyes glazed over, the tiniest hint of a frown on his forehead. He’ll chew on his bottom lip, let out little frustrated huffs occasionally, shift in his seat. Maybe there’s music playing softly in the background, maybe the steady drip of the coffee maker. Maybe the window will be cracked open, letting in some of the sounds of chattering voices and tires on pavement. 

Whatever the surroundings, Alex will be oblivious. He’ll get so stuck in his own mind that he won’t even notice Miles coming over, sitting by him, saying his name. Miles knows from experience that this state can last for hours if it’s allowed to, until Alex gets so tired of searching fruitlessly for just the right words that he’s forced to give up, frustrated and disappointed in himself, and he’ll shuffle off to sulk in the bedroom until the next day. 

Today, Alex is in one of those moods. It’s a rainy day, one of those days where you can’t even quite tell if it’s morning or afternoon or evening because of the way the sky is just washed with grey, muted light everywhere, not giving away any clues. Some might consider it unpleasant, but it really isn’t. Something about it makes the flat feel especially cozy to Miles on this late autumn morning, or afternoon, or whatever it is. They haven’t turned the lights on, so the room is lit dimly with the even grey of the outside. The front window is cracked, letting in the cool air, which is damp with the remnants of rain, but cold enough to still feel fresh. There was music on earlier, Scott Walker crackling on the record player, just barely audible, but Alex got up from his seat in the armchair to turn it off before settling into sharp focus on whatever poetry he was spinning onto the pages of his notebook. Miles stepped out onto the back balcony to take a call from his manager and smoke a cigarette, and when he came back in a few minutes later, he found Alex holding his notebook in both hands and staring at it—nearly boring a hole in it, really—with his brow knit; a telltale sign. 

Now, Miles has been watching him for what must be at least half an hour, sipping on his tea at the kitchen table and pretending not to be staring as Alex appears to dig himself deeper and deeper into writer’s block. Not that Alex would notice. He probably wouldn’t notice a home invasion when he’s like this. He’s just sitting there, bent over now, elbows resting on his thighs. It’s always interesting to watch him, even though it pains Miles to see him frustrated. He has one hand in his hair, running through it, tugging on it every once in a while when he gets particularly annoyed. Sometimes, he pulls out the chain he wears around his neck, twists it on his finger. He rests his chin in his palm, looks out the window for a bit, sighing often. After a while, he picks up his notebook and squints at it like there’s some obvious answer he’s missing, then perks up slightly as if he’s finally got something, only to pause abruptly and deflate before he’s put pen to paper. The noises would be adorable if he weren’t so genuinely upset when he made them, little irritated huffs and grumbles and sometimes honest-to-god growls. Miles knows how Alex gets down on himself when he’s temporarily stuck in a creative rut, feels like he’s somehow letting people down even though he’s a complete genius. 

It reaches a certain point where he can’t stand it anymore, and he decides he has to do something. Not only does he hate watching his Alex so frustrated, but he’s getting rather antsy himself, characteristically full of energy but unwilling to leave Alex behind. 

So he sidles over, stepping softly on the hardwood floor in his sock feet just because it seems wrong to disturb the silence, even though he knows Alex wouldn’t be bothered if he started tapdancing. When he’s next to the armchair, he crouches over a bit, feeling a little silly like he’s talking to a child, but the chair is low and he doesn’t want to loom over him. He’s careful not to startle him, says his name a couple of times with no response before placing a hand softly on the crook of his elbow. 

“Hey,” Miles says, squeezing it and shaking it gently until Alex finally blinks and looks over at him. His expression at first is a bit lost, unfocused, still not quite out of his head. After a couple of seconds, though, he seems to come out of it as his eyes lock on Miles’ and he manages a tired smile. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re making too much progress there,” Miles observes. 

“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.” 

Alex’s hair is a fluffy mess and he’s pouting a bit, and Miles can’t help but pull him in for a hug, which Alex returns with a sigh. 

“Listen, grumpy,” Miles starts when he’s pulled away, “I know you think you can’t leave this chair until you’ve written the next great classic—” at this, Alex rolls his eyes, “—but you’re obviously stuck and you need to go do something to get your mind off it.” 

All he receives is a skeptical stare—Alex is always reluctant, but Miles will get him to come around. 

“C’mon, it’s a lovely day! Let’s go outside, get the blood flowing.” 

Alex frowns. “It’s raining, Miles.” 

“Not anymore! And it smells like wet leaves and fresh air, c’mon, just a little walk about.” 

Alex is looking back at him, bemused, but the corners of his mouth and the sparkle in his eyes betray deep affection. 

“You’re ridiculous. Alright.” 

Pleased, Miles jumps up and tugs Alex by the hand away from his notebook and his frustrations and his stupid self-doubt, slides on his shoes and grabs their coats from the front hall, tossing Alex’s at him with a grin. 

 

Alex is quiet, at first. It’s not surprising; he always needs some time to come back to the world, and he’s especially reluctant to do so when he feels like he hasn’t made the writing progress he needs to. But Miles doesn’t mind waiting; he’s content to stroll along in silence as long as Alex is next to him. He loves watching the people as they pass by, all sorts of people living their lives and he gets to see just a snapshot. There aren’t as many people out on the street at usual, probably because of the earlier rain, which is good, really, because Alex has never been very comfortable in crowds. 

He steers Alex in the direction of the nearby park, one they go to often. Alex must know where they’re headed but makes no comment, just stares at the pavement under his feet with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He’s still thinking too hard, clearly, and Miles needs to snap him out of it. He decides to route them past Alex’s favorite little coffee shop, grabs his hand out of his pocket and pulls him in when they get there, stepping up to the counter and ordering two of Alex’s go-to drink. When they step back out and Miles hands Alex his coffee, he takes it with a small smile and his eyes seem a bit clearer already. 

They walk in step with each other without trying, Miles chatting away about whatever observations come to mind while Alex sips his coffee and gives an occasional chuckle or snort. After a while, Alex starts to breath more deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh, chilly air. His shoulders loosen and he starts looking around instead of just watching his feet. Miles watches carefully. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Miles says, leaning forward a bit to get good line of sight to Alex’s face. “Taking a brisk walk through the city like this. Really clears the head, yeah?”

Alex nods, but Miles notices the way his jaw is still tensed, the way he grips the coffee cup hard enough to dent it. 

“Hey, listen. You’re not allowed to think about any of that right now. I’m serious!” 

Alex shoots him a look, seems like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. With a particularly strong gust of wind, he pulls his coat closer around himself and tucks his chin into his scarf. Miles puts an arm around Alex’s shoulder and draws him against his side, tilts his head to speak to him in a soothing voice. 

“Just focus on the here and now, Al. Like the way the wind stings your face. The way the car tires sound different on the wet pavement. The rhythm of our steps.” 

They’re at the entrance to the park, now, making their way down the slight decline and turning off of the street to walk on the winding asphalt path. 

“The fallen leaves crunching underfoot?” Alex says, half teasing, but his smile is genuine. 

“Now you’re gettin’ it!” Miles laughs. 

“Alright. I guess I can do that.” 

Alex pulls away, and Miles is about to protest when he sees him veering off to a branch of the path, steps freer and head held higher than they had been. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Miles is following close behind before he leads the way down to an old wooden bridge arching over the pond in the middle of the park. He stops once he’s in the middle, leaning on the rail at the highest point and looking down into the still, black water. A long exhale escapes from him as Miles comes up next to him, watching as he brings his coffee cup up to his lips and breathes in the steam, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

Miles can’t help but stare. Anytime Alex is around him, really. He’s looking a lot better, much more present and free of worry as he looks out over the park, scanning it. It’s fairly empty, just an old man in a cap sitting on a bench near the street and a woman pushing a stroller along behind them. The leaves have mostly fallen by now, leaving a layer on the surface of the pond along its edges, and making way for the light grey sky in between barren branches. Alex is observing it all carefully, craning his neck to look up at the crows in the treetops, the line of rooftops framing the park. The tip of his nose is a little red, like it always gets when he’s out in the cold, and his cheeks are flushed from the wind. Unable to resist, Miles quickly leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth. He startles at first, not expecting it, but then smiles at Miles warmly and looks down at his feet, cheeks now tinted pink from more than just the wind. Alex glances around to make doubly sure there’s no one in the small park who would recognize them or care, then unburies his hand from his coat pocket to search out Miles’ and grab it, winding their fingers together. 

“This is nice, Mi. Thank you.” 

Miles just smiles and squeezes his hand three times. 

They stand like that in silence for a minute, taking in the world around them, its stillness and muted colors. They’re content to be next to each other, sharing the warmth of their palms. Miles rests his eyes on the old man sitting on the park bench off to the side, who’s holding a newspaper and smoking, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. A mischievous smile flickers on his face, and before Alex can question it, he nods in the man’s direction.

“What’d’ya think his deal is?” Miles asks, and Alex follows his gaze immediately, smirking when he realizes what Miles is doing. It’s a game they often play together when there’s nothing else to do, or when one of them needs a distraction. They both enjoy people-watching, and learned early on that they could amuse themselves endlessly by spinning the life stories of the strangers that passed them by. Alex, with his poet’s brain, always weaves complicated, literary backstories. Miles always has Alex shaking with laughter. 

“Hmm,” Alex pretends to be deep in thought, squinting his eyes and crinkling up his nose comically, pursing his lips and tapping at his chin. “Well, here’s the thing. He’s actually a ghost.” 

Miles snorts. 

“Now, here me out. Who would be sitting outside, alone, in an empty park on a chilly autumn day?”

Miles gasps, feigning realization. “A ghost, of course!”

“Of course! He’s been sitting there every day for the past 20 years, because he thinks his love is going to meet him like she always did, but really, she’s been long gone for years. That paper he’s reading? It’s actually the front page from 1989.” 

“Goodness, how romantic,” Miles sighs dramatically, putting on a fake posh accent. Alex nods, trying to look serious. 

“Alright,” Alex pipes up, pointing up the hill on the other side of the park fence, where a woman is walking three dalmatians. “How ‘bout her?”

They pass the next few minutes like this, making each other laugh until tears are prickling at the corners of their eyes, crafting wild stories about each person they see pass by the park. They’re leaning against each other’s shoulders, their laughter coming out in white puffs, and just as they begin to compose themselves, Alex grabs Miles’ arm and points at the pond. 

“Hey look, it’s you!” he giggles.

Miles looks where he’s pointing, confused, until he makes out what looks like a brass sculpture of a turtle sitting on the surface of the water. He scoffs, rolling his eyes and trying to glare at Alex, who has apparently greatly amused himself. 

“Oh, I’ve been trying my best to cheer you up and that’s the thanks I get?! I get called a turtle?!” Miles feigns indignation, taking a step back from Alex and putting a hand on his chest like he’s hurt. 

Alex shows no remorse, merely doubling over with laughter, leaning on his knees. 

“You’re a piece of work, Turner,” he says, then throws an arm around Alex’s shoulders and puts him in a headlock so he can ruffle his hair. They tousle a bit, playfully, stumbling in circles around the bridge until Miles gets his arms around Alex’s back and holds him there, catching his breath through his laughter. 

Alex smiles up at him when he stills, and Miles pecks the tip of his nose. 

“You’re a cute turtle, though. And a very sweet one,” Alex offers. The sincerity is clear in his voice; he knows what Miles has been trying to do for him, and he appreciates it more than he could easily tell. 

“And a cold one, now. C’mon, I think we’d better head back.” 

Miles takes Alex’s hand and pulls him back down the bridge, Alex trotting to catch up. 

“But first, we should stop by that one bakery on the way for croissants! My treat.” Miles sounds inordinately excited about the idea, putting on a ridiculous French accent for ‘croissants’. 

“You really enjoy spoiling me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Miles says, drawing Alex in to kiss his temple. “Better get used to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm also over on twitter @softtlsp
> 
> Have a wonderful day :)


End file.
